


Traveler

by Somedrunkpirate



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Illya POV, Introspection, M/M, Slight pining, an abundance of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: Spies know the world in different ways.Illya tastes, Illya stays.Napoleon?He flies away.





	Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for these two, trying to figure out Illya's voice. What better way than a short introspection ficlet? 
> 
> Hope you like it!

\---

After his dad was taken away, growing up in Russia felt like living in the open mouth of a giant white polar bear. The razor sharp teeth formed both a threat and protection. Illya slept on that great tongue, knowing that one miss step could swallow him whole. 

When he trained in the KGB he felt that mouth slowly recede. The bear stood behind him, still tall, still dangerous, but they were allies, fighting the same fight. Illya had thought he could love this bear, even though it could still turn on him at any moment. It’s claws through his back. He would never see it coming. 

Illya knows that he did love Russia, and still does. But most of that love is caused by the absence of another world, another way. 

The KGB goes through a lot of trouble to prevent their spies from tasting the world. Bleak and repetitive safe houses, missions with as little context as possible, hide-outs nearest to a Russian community. The idea that loyalty to the motherland is decided on the proximity to bortsch, is as outlandish as their assumption that loyalty is, in part, ensured by ignorance. 

Illya disagrees with his handlers on this, silently. Loyalty is a choice, and Illya chooses to be loyal. Discovering the world won’t change that. He believes that it helps. The further he is from the hot breath of his great bear, tickling the back of his neck, making his fists shake, the more he can breathe. Illya likes to breathe, it’s easier to love his country when he can. 

Illya climbs the ranks, and with prestige comes more executive power. He can make his own plans; the briefings are a exchange of information instead of a shopping list of orders. He decides to taste every city he comes across. 

\---

Espionage is not always exciting. 

Most of it takes patience; listening to conversations, following marks through their boring daily lives, taking careful notes. No stone left unturned. 

Information is time consuming. A fist does not provide the intel needed, a gun ensures gibberish. Humans are not very good at anything, but they are even worse under pressure. The normal ones mostly, and many of the marks are normal humans, that know a bit too much about an unusual thing. 

This makes Illya familiar with his surroundings, the following and waiting. He learns the city from the inside out, the bones and dredges. Backway allies, deserted parking lots, rooftop cats, dingy cafes. These are Illya’s favorite places, these are places that make him feel calm and lost. 

Those are the best feelings he can feel. 

\---

Illya knows that when his handlers send him out into U.N.C.L.E, his KGB days were done. 

The bear has closed it’s jaws, and Illya is left outside, in the cold. 

After U.N.C.L.E, he will be too tainted for them, too knowing, too unpredictable. They like their spies ignorant, and Illya is anything but. 

\---

Illya has tasted the world. He’s been in so many places, they bleed over each other in his memories. His favorites mix through into ideals that don’t exist, that he never can go back to. Illya knows this world. Or he thinks he does, until he meets Napoleon.

Napoleon is overwhelming in his sense of universality. He fits into every place, everywhere, he can be anyone and anything. He lives everywhere and nowhere at once. Illya wonders if he ever had a home. Napoleon doesn’t seem to like places, but he likes details. The local food, the old woman on the beach knitting every day, the way the sun rises, the sound of the birds in the morning, that one painting he doesn’t steal but visits for a few times. 

Illya attaches himself into a city, to a routine, a home, a way of living. Napoleon doesn’t. He flirts with a city; enjoying its riches and leaving the imperfections for the next one passing through. He isn’t a tourist or an explorer, he’s a collector. A collector of experiences. 

Illya lives and breathes the cities he knows. He misses them after he leaves, even though he pretends he doesn’t. Napoleon seems to forget them the moment he steps out of their bounds.

Will Napoleon stay somewhere, given time? Or will he forever be passing through, never settle, never home. 

Illya doesn’t know. 

He hopes though, he hopes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was that. 
> 
> Thank you Brookebond for the proofread!


End file.
